


The Gamers

by JackBivouac



Series: The Secret Lives of NPCs [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Bestiality, Bondage, Brothels, Bukkake, Double Penetration, Double Penetration in One Hole, Forced Orgasm, Gang Rape, Impregnation, Kidnapping, Knotting, Multi, Necrophilia, Public Humiliation, Rape, Sexual Slavery, Torture, Training, Urination
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:54:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28305639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackBivouac/pseuds/JackBivouac
Summary: Adventures of various characters from assorted campaigns.Follows plot points from Curse of the Crimson Throne, Second Darkness
Series: The Secret Lives of NPCs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073111
Kudos: 15





	1. Book 1, Trisaor

When Vudrani immigrant Madam Vedra saw the tiefling enter Lavender House desperate for work, she knew Lady Luck herself had sent the poor fool. After Queen Ilesa’s recent ascension into total control of the throne, there had never been more hatred for Chelaxians in Korvosa. That wasn’t even counting her installation of martial law with her new squads of Gray Maidens patrolling the streets with a license to kill. And here came a tiefling who looked exactly like the queen’s tiefling bodyguard and commander of the Gray Maidens, Sabrie.

Best of all, because most Korvosans right now would sooner kill the tiefling than hire them, there was no way this Trisaor could afford to refuse any of Madam Vedra’s terms. So on their very first day at Lavender House, the brothel owner had them strip naked. She put the tiefling in a collar and leash, strapping their together forearms behind their back in a binding sleeve that left their hands dangling uselessly. Her henchman blindfolded the tiefling and put a ring-gag in their mouth, so the untried sex worker didn’t accidentally or purposefully bite an especially rough patron.

She took the tiefling’s leash and led them out onto the brothel’s walkway stage. The crowd waiting for the service of their favorite workers fell as silent as the grave. They watched, entranced by a storm of wrathful hatred and sheer, animal lust, as the madam tied the end of the leash to a metal ring at the head of the walkway, forcing Trisaor to either bend over or fall to their knees. 

The tiefling bent, unbalanced, and collapsed on their knees. The patrons broke into laughing jeers, crowding closer to the stage and the lewd, bound body trembling upon it. Madam Vedra smiled coldly. She was going to make a killing.

“My henchmen recently captured this Hellspawn trying to steal from our kitchen. I wonder if they could be one of the queen’s own bastard brood our dearly departed King Eodred kicked to the curb. Anywho, this worthless little cumslut needs to learn a lesson. If you’d care to educate them, it’ll be, say, one gold piece a lesson.”

The gold flowed thick as cum in the brothel. Madam Vedra and the patrons had a field day. Trisaor...not so much.

The patrons grabbed the tiefling’s head by the horns and forced their dicks into their mouth. They groped their perfectly rounded tits and ass, lifting their hips to stuff their dicks in their tight little ass, pussy, and often both at the same time. Even when patrons were pounding all three holes and the others had to wait, the crowd spewed the tiefling’s shuddering, spasming body with their piss and cum.

They fucked Trisaor into a proper cumtoilet on the brothel stage. Then Madam Vedra untied the tiefling’s leash to let the patrons have even more fun. They bent the tiefling over tables and the rail of the stairs and reamed their asshole and pussy. They forced Trisaor up against walls or each other’s bodies as they fucked the tiefling’s brains out. They threw the tiefling onto the cots beside other sex workers and pistoned their dicks into Trisaor until they squirted their slick onto the other cock-stuffed workers.

The patrons fucked the tiefling’s ass and pussy so full of cum there was no way they had survived the night without being impregnated. When Trisaor’s first, brutal shift drew close to its end, Madam Vedra tied their leash back to the walkway’s ring. She strapped their calves together in a second binding sleeve and shoved a thick rubber dildo into their mouth, ass, and pussy.

The patrons’ cum was plugged inside the pathetically whimpering, trembling, seed-drenched cumwhore. Then the madam activated the enchantment on the dildos. They pistoned to life inside their throat, ass, and pussy, churning the patrons’ cum into Trisaor’s guts. 

The crowd hooted and hollered even more leeringly and raucously as they watched the dildos fuck the tiefling into a helplessly mewling, quivering mess on the stage, forcing them to cum over and over again on their plugged-in sperm. In their wrathful, lustful frenzy, the patrons blew their loads and pissed all over Trisaor’s bound, battered body, forcing them to spasm and writhe in a filthy puddle.

But finally, finally, the tiefling’s first day at the brothel came to an end. Madam Vedra untied their leash, but Trisaor was too weak to stand, much less walk. Her henchman dragged them by the horns to the back and dumped buckets of cold water onto their still-bound body until they’d splashed off the worst of the filth. The henchman laughed at Trisaor’s helpless yelps and fish-like jerks at the cold water. When they’d finished, the madam let them take their cut of the wet, fresh meat.

The two unstrapped the sleeve around their calves and removed their blindfold. They ate up the animal terror in the tiefling's golden eyes as Trisaor realized they weren't simply going to be allowed to go home without surrendering their lewd body to the henchmen's raping dicks.

The henchmen picked the tiefling up under the legs and shoved them down, their dicks screwing them up the ass and pussy at the same time. Oversensitized from the evening’s brutal, endless fucking and now doubly impaled, Trisaor had no power to stop their swollen, agonized ass and pussy from clamping down on their rapists’ dicks. Their back arched uncontrollably, driving their tits and the back of their head lewdly against the henchmen’s solid chests. Their hips bucked with a cum-brained mind of their own, begging their rapists to fuck the shit out of them.

The henchmen obliged with low, snarling growls. They shapeshifted into their true forms, hulking wererats with the fanged muzzles of beasts and coats of coarse brown fur over their muscle. They grew long, hairless tails that they wrapped around their cocks and forced back into the tiefling, pounding their ass and pussy with the extra, coiled girth.

Trisaor’s eyes bulged. They let out hoarse, breathless shrieks as the henchman’s tail-wrapped cocks slammed their cum-stuffed guts. Tears and snot ran down their face. To their eternal shame, their ass and pussy squeezed even harder and more desperately around their raping dicks.

The wererats blew their loads into tiefling’s pregnant womb and violently spasming asshole. Only when they had pumped them full of every last drop of cum did they finally pull out and remove the tiefling’s gag and armbinder. Trisaor’s wobbling legs collapsed under them. They fell to the cold, wet washroom floor and burst into silently shaking sobs.

The henchmen left, laughing. Madam Vedra entered. She rolled her eyes and tossed the sobbing tiefling a heavy sack of clinking coin.

“Pull yourself together. I’d bet that’s more money than you’ve ever made in your whole miserable life put together. You did that in one night, little slut. Have a bit of pride. Now get out of here and rest up for tomorrow.”

So Trisaor pulled on their clothes and left with their earnings. It was, indeed, more money than they’d ever made at their old dockworking gig. In fact, if they could keep this up for just a week, they’d make enough to get their younger siblings out of dangerous Korvosa and into the one place where tieflings were par-for-course, the Infernal Empire of Cheliax.

They wiped their eyes and plastered on a smile. Just one week. Just one week. And the two teens, one tween would never even have to know where they’d gotten such filthily earned money.

The wobbly smile fell from their face as soon as they entered the cramped tenement flat, however. Venin and Khaen were sitting by Zelar’s side, their faces painted with worry. The twelve year old was lying on their sleeping mat, swaddled in blankets but coughing and shivering in a cold sweat.

“Zelar! What happened?”

“Old Fern says they’ve got the new sickness sweeping through all the Korvosan slums,” Khaen whispered out of Zelar’s earshot.

Trisaor’s pale face went even paler. Plague. None of the Korvosan poor dared to say it yet and solidify it in stone, but they all knew it. A plague perhaps as bad as Magnimar’s was building strength in the slums. It was only a matter of time before the poor began dropping in droves--perhaps only days.

“H-how-how did this happen?”

“Zelar went swimming while we were out scavenging,” said Venin quietly.

The siblings had gone rifling through the trash and flotsam on the bank of the Jeggare River as they usually did, looking for trinkets to sell or trade for food. Zelar had found a small wooden box with both a pouch of silver coins and a dead rat inside. They’d thrown the rat back into the river with a childish squeal but kept the box and coins.

Venin and Khaen let the little one sell the box themself and use the coins to buy whatever they wanted (freshly made candy). Only hours later, fever and chills had set in. The two did everything they could to make Zelar comfortable, conferring with their old halfling neighbor without letting her near their potentially contagious siblings.

“Old Fern says there’s no cure,” said Khaen, blinking hard, her voice choked with tears.

Trisaor dropped their face in their hands. They had no idea what to do. Now they’d have to watch, uselessly, as Zelar wasted away, possibly followed by the rest of their family.

Venin, however, grasped their arm firmly. “But who packs a rat into a box sealed with coin? The disease was planted there. I think this whole plague might be manufactured.”

“But who…” No, Trisaor knew. There was no one Ilesa hated more than the restless, rebellious poor. Commoners. She would wipe them all out given the chance...and perhaps this was it. “Mother.”

“No!” gasped Khaen.

“Yes,” said Venin. “But she wouldn’t have made a plague without a cure.”

Of course! She couldn’t have the disease eating into the nobility as well like Apollyon’s Plague, especially not putting herself at risk. “But how do we find the cure?”

“The nobles. Mother would’ve advised them what to do if they started showing symptoms.”

“Great, so we break into a noble’s house, find out where the cure is, and then get hunted down by the Gray Maidens,” said Khaen.

“Not...necessarily,” said Trisaor. “I know someone who might be able to get me a temp job at a noble’s place.”

“How do we help?” asked Khaen.

The eldest sibling flushed and shook their head. No way in Hell they were letting them get anywhere near Lavender House and its horrible madam. “I need you to stay here and take care of Zelar. And try not to get sick, too. So come on, let’s all get some rest. Sleep’s the best medicine.”

Venin frowned but nodded. There were only so many jobs available to extremely hated and despised tieflings right now, and her sibling’s late hours narrowed that down considerably. She didn’t have anything against sex workers, but this time of plague in the city seemed an especially dangerous time to be bumping uglies with gods knew who. 

They needed to find that cure, post-haste. So when everyone had fallen asleep, the second-eldest tiefling in the flat snuck out in the early dark hours of the fall morning. Venin pulled the hood of her ratty old cloak over her horns and made her way to Korvosa’s foremost temple.

Towering over the surrounding buildings, the Grand Vault of Abadar offered a vision of divine luxuriance amid a sea of mortal troubles. Its grey-veined white marble, some of the finest stone in the city-state, was carved in forms of both strength and elegance. There was no question that this place was the house of a god.

Yet, for a deity of law, the steep stairs and ramps leading up to the temple’s great bronze doors offered a discordant scene. Hundreds of impoverished citizens thronged the entry, scarcely being held back by a group of gold-armored Abadarian clerics...backed by the full-armor-plated Gray Maidens. They turned away nearly all comers, making exception only for those in merchant silks and like--those who could afford to pay for a healing.

It was sickening. A sight that planted a seed of gnawing despair in the tiefling’s gut. Yet one that made her all the more determined. She and her family would find that gods-damned cure. And then they would bankrupt these money-grubbing temples by releasing it to the masses. She knew just who could produce and distribute a cure.

Venin made her way north to Old Korvosa and the last pier on its docks, Eel’s End. She and the Spider King hadn’t left on particularly good terms, but judging by the wheelbarrows of bodies getting hauled down the docks, his part of town had been hit just as hard. They both needed a cure.

“I need to see Devargo,” she said to the bouncers outside his doors. Before they could turn her away, she lowered her hood. Of course they recognized the tiefling their boss had bought from child-trafficker Gaedren--there were very, very few Hellspawn in Korvosa.

One went in to tell the boss. Moments later, they opened the doors. Venin walked in to the Varisian drug lord once more sprawled and lounging on his throne. The spiders he allowed to crawl casually over his arm or armored chest indicated that he’d found a new ettercap ally to control them and help manage his Shiver-producing operation.

“Well, well, well, the prodigal lamb returns,” Devargo drawled. “Or perhaps you’re more of an erinyes in sheep’s clothing.”

“There’s a cure to this plague. Me and my family are on its trail. You want in or out?”

He straightened up in his seat. “I’m listening.”

Venin smiled thinly. Well, well, well. Maybe this ludicrous scheme of hers might actually work.


	2. Chapter 2

Madam Vedra wasn’t sure what to make of their new tiefling hire. She’d sent them home in tears yesterday only for them to come in early this afternoon and practically beg to be rented out to any private function for any length of time, preferably one beginning this evening. The Vudrani shrugged. There was a cumslut cocksucker born every minute.

As it happened, she was well informed of the city’s most deviant debaucheries. There was indeed one going on right now, a week-long affair held by Korvosa’s most sexually vile noble couple, the Carowyns. They had already ordered all the...individuals they would need--not from Lavender House--but the madam doubted they would say no to her special tiefling. In fact, if anything...untoward happened to her employee, the Carowyns would pay extravagant hush money according to her informants.

“Very well,” said Madam Vedra. “My henchmen will prepare you to entertain the crowd downstairs while I file the paperwork. Should the Carowyns agree to my terms, you’ll be permitted to join their event.”

“Thanks, Madam Vedra,” said Trisaor, their sincerity ridiculously genuine given the circumstances.

For the next part of the tiefling’s brothel training, the henchman brought a low bench out onto the stage. Once again, they brought Trisaor out blindfolded, ring-gagged, and on a leash. Their arms were once more strapped together tightly behind them in a sleeve, this time straight down their back.

They forced the tiefling to lie on their stomach along the bench. Their head hung free off one end of the bench, their ass off the other, their legs forced to kneel on either side. The henchmen strapped either of Trisaor’s legs to the back legs of the bench with thick leather ties, to keep them spread apart.

The two left the patrons to warm up the tiefling’s holes while they went to fetch Trisaor’s ‘trainer.’ They came back to find one patron forcing their head down on their cock by the horns and another mounting Trisaor from behind like an animal, pinning them flat to the bench under them as they reamed their tightly clenched anus.

The henchmen let the patrons cum before removing the tiefling’s blindfold. They watched with sadistic glee as Trisaor’s eyes widened in terror at the sight of their trainer. The crowd roared in jeering approval.

Madam Vedra had rented out an outsider bound by one of her wizard patrons, a leukodaemon. The evil horse-man-beast was a naked, 14ft giant weighing 200lbs. It had the skull of a horse for a head, walked on horse-hooved feet, and bore the rotting wings of a carrion bird. Two long, thick dicks like those of stallion hung heavily between its legs.

[Ability traced: disease immunity]

The horseman walked around behind the tiefling, hooves clopping on the wooden stage. Trisaor sat up from the heavy bench, thrashing and straining against their bonds. The leather straps held their legs securely, however, forcing their ass in place.

The leukodaemon’s hollow eyes looked on impassively, dicks hardened. It got down on all fours behind the tiefling, forcing them back against the bench with two clawed hands on either shoulder. With a cruel, violent shove, the horseman forced both cocks up Trisaor’s cum-sticky ass and pussy.

The tiefling shrieked in agony. Their pained body squirmed against the leukodaemon’s brutal pounding, but there was no escape. The horseman pounded them into the bench, driving its cocks to the base of their guts and impregnated womb.

Trisaor’s screams were choked out to breathless gasps, each doubly impaling thrust fucking the wind from their lungs. Pinning the tiefling down, bestial stallion forced them to take every explosive thrust into their ass and pussy. Trisaor spasmed helplessly and uncontrollably as the horseman fucked convulsion after wracking convulsion into their overstuffed shafts. Though tears ran from their eyes and snot from their nose, their tongue lolled from their mouth like a bitch’s.

To the tiefling’s shame, they couldn’t stop their own sow-like grunts and moans as the horseman’s cocks dominated their ass and pussy. The beast forced them to cum over and over until their thighs trembled like jello on either side of the bench. Trisaor’s back arched, bringing them up and rubbing against the muscled chest of the brutal leukodaemon churning their guts in wet, raw nerve.

The tiefling drooled onto their own tits. They let out a moaning squeal as the horseman pumped them full of its daemonic cum. When it finally pulled out, the crowd roared and descended on the panting, seed-oozing cumtoilet. The henchman unstrapped the barely conscious tiefling from the bench to let the patrons have their way with the beast’s pathetic bitch.

Trisaor was fucked for hours, earning Madam Vedra another pretty penny. But before the evening had even drawn into night, the paperwork came back from the Carowyns. Korvosa’s most notoriously deviant nobles were apparently VERY eager to have a tiefling who resembled the queen’s right-hand attend their function.

So the madam had her henchmen gather up the tiefling’s strength-sapped, quivering flesh and take them to the back room. They washed off the cumslut and threw them into a simple, nearly sheer white frock. Cleaned and presentable, they dumped Trisaor into the back of a wagon and drove them into one of the wealthier sectors of the city.

The tiefling came to their senses just as the henchmen pulled to a stop at a stately, gabled manor along Shoreline Way. Built for entertaining, the estate included the manor house itself, a smaller servants’ residence, and a meticulously manicured garden—complete with a gazebo and pond full of tiny, glow-in-the-dark salamanders. The house’s limestone facade was currently festooned with cinderberry garlands and bright red drapes to subtly indicate the special event going on within.

“Go on, get out.”

“You’re not coming with me?” asked Trisaor, their voice far more timid now that they were actually here.

The henchmen snorted a laugh. “No. Get the fuck out and do what you were paid to do.”

“You’re on the clock now, ya dumb slut, and will be until the week’s up. So move your ass.”

Trisaor reluctantly stepped out from the wagon. Hugging their arms to their chest, they walked through the open gates to the manor’s front doors. They gulped and gave the door the tiniest rap of their knuckles. Unexpectedly, the doors swung open. The tiefling stared aghast.

Upon the marble floor and heaped in the corners laid more than a dozen corpses, each clad in garish outfits of sequined velvet, revealing silk,   
and colorful feathers. Masks of all shapes and sizes—each competing with the last in terms of elaborateness—adorned the dead. In several cases, though, the fanciful adornments had fallen away, revealing bloodless flesh. Most horrifyingly, upon a blood-slick space at the center of the great hall swayed three couples, one noble paired with a reanimated, undead corpse jerking with hellish dance moves.

How was Trisaor to know the Carowyns and their cadre of noble friends were necrophiliacs? This was their quarter-annual corpse party. They had gathered 21 unsuspecting commoners here under the guise of sex work and had ritually killed all of them right here in the great hall while fucking them or having them fuck each other. Then reanimated their corpses into zombies for the REAL party to begin.

The tiefling screamed, frozen in terror. Yet was welcomed inside by the grasping arms of the undead. The doors slammed shut behind them.

“Th-those people were dead, weren’t they?” Khaen whispered from behind a garden hedge.

“Yep,” said Venin, drawing one of the magically enhanced daggers she’d gotten off Devargo as a part of their deal. She’d traced his finesse training, allowing her to wield it better, and passed one of the other daggers to Khaen before they set out to follow their sibling from Lavender House. “Let’s go.”

The sisters jimmied up a window along the manor’s side. They climbed through into the dining room. Eight corpses sat at a finely set dinner table, looking at one another blankly. Of the eight zombies, only four had been magically directed to go through the motions of eating the leftovers of the feast on the table. They kept spooning it back into their mouths after it dribbled out from their slack jaws. The other four poked like any picky noble at the contents of their plates, save without any of the pretentious delicacy.

At the intrusion of the sisters, the zombies stopped. Their heads swiveled as one toward the tieflings. With rasping groans, they scrambled to push away from the table and attack.

“I don’t think so,” muttered Venin. She stabbed her dagger into the nearest’s head. Time to send these undead assholes resting in pieces.

[Level up]

[Ability traced: immunity to disease]

The sisters made a reasonable guess that Trisaor had been taken to some bedroom, probably upstairs. They headed for the nearest flight of stairs down the hall. They first had to pass by the opened doors of a recital hall, however. 

There a zombie dressed as a blue-winged angel twanged a large, standing harp and another dressed as a red-winged devil pounded piano keys. Four costumed corpses--a sea serpent, a castle tower, a swan, and a blue skeleton--sat on chairs while four costumed nobles hopped on their death-stiffened cocks or plowed living dick into their undead assholes.

Venin and Khaen tried to sneak by, but the musician zombies immediately stopped plunking to shamble into a groaning attack. Even the sex zombies turned their heads and pointed.

“Watch the doors,” Venin ordered her year-younger sister, stopping the couples in their tracks with bolts of web. They couldn’t afford to leave any witnesses.

Khaen shut them behind her. She wasn’t quite as keen to be killing humanoids as her sister, noble or not, but she understood the stakes. Everyone here stood between them and rescuing their sibling from a life undead.

The tieflings traced poison and bleed immunity off the zombies. The nobles might’ve had some combat training, but it did them little good without their weapons and barely dressed in their corpse-fucking costumes. Venin traced their sneak attack while Khaen traced their finesse training. Both leveled up to gamer 4.

They cut their bloody path through to the second floor. Finely framed works of art covered the open gallery walls. Great, curtained windows looked out between them to the garden below. Four zombies stood here, naked and posed like statues. Of course, they immediately broke character at sight of the intruders.

[Ability traced: undead’s immunity to death effects]

“Hey! What the Hell do you think you’re doing to my minions?”

The tieflings turned. Khaen paled. The speaker was a derro dressed like a harlequin in blue, black, and white. They held a dagger in one hand and a wand in the other. They were backed by three final zombies.

Venin answered by blasting them with web. “Same thing we’re gonna do to you.”

“I-I’ll get the zombies,” said Khaen, running forward but giving the derro a wide berth. She’d seen enough of derros in that necromancer’s lab in the Gray District.

The sorcerer snarled as they fought to extricate themself--they couldn’t cast or accurately attack under the sticky strands. Venin struck while she had the upper hand, stabbing deep and sinking her venomous fangs into the derro’s neck. The spider poison struck, sapping their Strength and Dexterity.

Khaen finished off the slow-moving zombies. After all her new experience fighting, they’d truly become as easy to cut down as minions. Then ran to join her sister, who’d just renewed her web cast at point-blank range. Flanking this sorcerous head of security, the derro didn’t stand a chance.

The sisters leveled up to gamer 5. They traced the derro’s evasion, not that it had managed to save the sorcerer’s life. Venin rifled through the pockets of their costume, which un-glamoured upon their death to reveal studded leather armor. She pulled up a ring of keys.

“Kinda weird that there’s another derro here,” Khaen remarked with a shiver.

“What do you mean, ‘another derro’?”

“I just mean I’ve never seen them in the city, only when they got me from the Fishery and took me to the underground lab. The Rolth guy’s.”

Venin’s eyes narrowed in thought. Rolth, the experimental necromancer, possibly had a connection to the nobles. He could’ve been the one providing these fools with undead animation. Perhaps he also provided his alchemical services.

At any rate, they’d need to leave the next nobles they came across alive for questioning. At least until they got more answers.


	3. Chapter 3

Aus and Olare Carowyn couldn’t have been more ecstatic to have a tiefling who looked just like Ilesa’s bodyguard and commander of the Gray Maidens join their undead extravaganza. They would make such a precious corpse. But, of course, the couple couldn’t simply kill the tiefling--that wouldn’t do. They needed to subject them to the same ritual fucking as all the rest of the servants and commoners they’d gathered for this week.

So they and their three friends hauled the screaming tiefling upstairs to a large, lavish bedroom. They ripped the shift off them while grabbing hold of their flailing limbs. They got out the ritual red rope and forced the tiefling over onto their face, tits, and stomach on the bed.

Trisaor’s arms were wrenched straight behind them and painfully bound together at the elbows and wrists. Tight ropes under and over their tits constricted their upper arms and chest. Their legs were bent at the knee and bound calf-to-thigh. The nobles crossed their ankles and lashed them together. A final, short length of rope around their wrist and ankle ties was pulled tight, forcing their back into an arch and spreading their thighs apart in an inescapable hogtie.

Trisaor cried, pleaded, and struggled all the while, but each successive coil and binding constricted their movement down to useless squirming. Olare grabbed them by the horns and dragged their head off the edge of the bed to force that worthless mouth onto her clit and cunt. Aus climbed onto the bed to kneel behind them. He pulled the tiefling’s bound legs up onto his and plowed his cock into their asshole.

“Unf, they’re a tight one,” he groaned, pounding this lewd slut into the mattress. Every thrust forced their tongue deeper into his wife’s pussy.

“Yes! Suck me harder, you worthless little cumwhore,” she moaned.

“Let me help you with that. I’ll get her motivated.” Aus groped one perfectly rounded asscheek to brace himself. He smacked the other until it was bright red, at the same time driving his cock harder, faster, and deeper into their captive’s ass.

The head of his cock slammed into their g-spot. The response was immediate. Trisaor screamed into Olare’s cunt. Their ass squeezed and convulsed around her husband’s dick. As Aus continued to piston into their spasming ass, the tiefling’s entire bound body snapped into rigid quivering. Drool ran from the corners of their worthless mouth.

Olare came, squirting her slick down the tiefling’s throat. She moaned and swapped places with a noble friend who immediately rammed their cock through Trisaor’s slicked lips. Aus came into their ass but pulled out to mark their butt and the small of their back with his cum. With a final smack, he too swapped places with a noble friend.

“Let’s see if that pussy’s as tight as your asshole.” In a single stroke, the noble’s dick impaled the tiefling’s pussy all the way to the mouth of their pregnant pussy.

Trisaor squealed onto the dick reaming their throat. After cumming from their ass, their body was primed to cum again. And the nobles knew it. They pounded their hog-tied body between them, escape even farther out of reach with their flesh spitted on dicks from both ends.

Rocking and writhing between them, the nobles’ cocks forced the tiefling into orgasmic convulsion. Trisaor grunted like a rutting sow, eyes rolling back in their skull. The first blew his load onto their drooling, pathetic face. The second added his cum to the load up their womb.

The two pulled out. The final noble flipped the tiefling over onto their back and bound arms. They plowed their cock right into Trisaor’s still-spasming pussy. Aus climbed under them to plunge his cock back into the tight, sticky squeeze of their ass. Olare straddled their face. One hand grabbed a horn to brace herself as she rode them hard. The other gripped a dagger.

“Yes! Yes! Y--ugh?” She looked down in puzzlement at the cold steel protruding through her chest. She slid off the dagger, flumping forward onto her face before rolling off the bed onto the carpet. Blood pool under her.

Aus’ moan of pleasure turned to a scream of terror. "Olare!"

But it wasn’t only his wife bleeding out on the bedroom carpets. He threw off the tiefling. Two more, younger and wild-eyed, pointed bloody daggers straight at his face and throat.

“Where’s the cure?” snarled the slightly older one as the younger one cut her sibling free of the red ropes.

“Wha-what cure?” Aus blubbered. His wife, his beautiful wife. Someone had gone and made her even more beautiful and it hadn’t been him.

“Don’t play dumb with me!” The tiefling slashed a cut into his bicep, drawing a pained yelp from the noble. “Where did the queen tell you to go if you ever showed symptoms of the plague?”

“Please! Please don’t hurt me!”

“Then tell me!” She slashed his other arm.

“The-the Hospice! The Hospice of the Blessed Maiden!”

“What is that? Where is it? Tell us everything.”

The terrified noble spilled the beans, big time. The Hospice was once a simple warehouse in West Dock. Four months ago, however, it was renovated and turned into a multi-level alchemical distribution center. Run by the Queen’s Physicians, doctors in bird-beaked plague masks who were hand-selected by Ilesa herself, the nobles could receive the best care in Korvosa on the first floor.

“What about the floors below the surface?”

“I don’t know! Nobody knows! I mean, we all know there are more floors underground. The Queen’s Physicians or nurses go down there to get the vaccine and stuff, but who’d want to go down to their lab or whatever?”

“Alright, last question. Where do the doctors get their masks from? Or could you draw what one looks like?”

“I-yeah, yeah. I have some paper in the study.”

The tieflings grabbed the simplest frock in the closet for their eldest sibling. All three escorted the noble down to the study. Aus sketched out an image of the mask for them.

“Thanks.” Venin stabbed her dagger through the back of his throat.

[Level up]

[Ability traced: uncanny dodge, cannot be caught flat-footed in combat]

“Venin! What the Hell!” croaked Trisaor.

“What? You wanna leave an eye-witness?”

The eldest sibling opened their mouth. They closed it with a frown. “...well, we’re in it now. Before we go, we should pick up all the loose gold we can.”

Not jewelry or other valuables that would have to be sold and converted to coin. Those were too risky, too easily traced back to the seller. Most of the Carowyns house cash was locked behind a large, personal safe. There were still enough coins around to fill a small flour sack, however. Combined with Trisaor's earnings, there was easily enough to buy passage out of Korvosa even at the current, obscenely inflated ship fares.

"What now?" asked Khaen, munching bread she'd liberated from the manor pantry during the search for gold.

"I know someone who can help us get masks like this," said Venin. "We get the masks, we sneak into the Hospice, we grab the cure from their lab."

Trisaor raised an eyebrow. "Who exactly do you know that can get us these masks?"

Venin considered lying. But if they actually got the cure to Devargo, it would put the drug lord on the map in a way that might secure an alliance. Every slum district in the city would have him to thank, and he would have to thank them. "The Spider King of Eel's End."

Trisaor and Khaen gaped, half-chewed bread falling from her sister's mouth.

"Venin, you can't be serious. That's the guy who would've turned you into a Shiver junkie and forced you to do gods know what," said the eldest.

"He's the one that gave us these weapons. He's promised more aid--he's just as invested in getting the cure as any of us."

"This IS a good dagger," said Khaen, hefting the weapon into her hand.

"Khaen, that's not helping. This is Devargo we're talking about," said Trisaor. "He's a bad guy--how do you know he isn't planning to double cross you? Us? Kill us to tie up loose ends about the cure?"

"If we can do this, we'll be too useful to kill. He'll know we're reliable help," said Venin with more conviction than was genuine.

Trisaor shut their eyes, head dropping back. Their little sisters were on the path to becoming mercenaries. Yes, they'd befriended the mercenaries Orik and Rana, but still...it felt like a failure. Trisaor felt like a failure. They'd failed to preserve their sisters' innocence.

"Do you have any better ideas?" asked Venin.

"I...no…"

"Then we get this drawing to Devargo asap." There was no telling how much time Zelar had before they were knocking on death's door.

So the three siblings went to Eel’s End. The Spider King raised his eyebrows at the sight of the lot of them together but said nothing except that he would get his contacts to make three of the Queen’s Physician masks. The process would need at least a day, and since Madam Vedra believed Trisaor would be at the corpse party for the rest of the week, the three went home to be with Zelar.

They took turns caring for the little one and sleeping. It hadn’t escaped their notice that they’d acquired disease immunity in the recent fights. Unfortunately, Zelar still wasn’t a gamer like they were. The only way they knew to pass the Lantern King’s strange gift onto others was by bringing them into combat with them, but it just seemed far too risky for the twelve-year-old, especially now with their illness.

The next evening, they returned to Eel’s End and picked up the masks. With their youngest sibling’s condition worsening, there was no time to spare. They went straight to West Dock and donned their masks and cloaks. From the outside, the Hospice of the Blessed Maiden looked like any other warehouse--they would have missed it completely if not for a cloaked noble making their way through the docks as well.

They followed them to the right warehouse but snuck around to the loading bay in the back. The scent of exotic wood and sawdust filled this maze of barrels and crates. A spider web of ropes and pulleys crisscrossed the ceiling, one thick cable suspending a net of barrels suspended over the splinter-scattered floor below. There were three great doors along one wall and leather flaps over doorways to the sides. Between them were shelves with long, folded, leather doctor’s coats.

The tieflings grabbed a coat each and walked through the leather flaps as purposefully as they could. They may not have been on duty, but by gods were they here on a mission. Neither physicians nor the odd Gray Maiden walking the halls gave them a second glance as they searched for a descending staircase.

What they found instead was a cargo lift. A masked doctor stepped out carefully holding a flask of viscous green fluid. The cure! The three siblings stepped in and rode the lift down.

40ft below ground, the lift let out to a stone chamber whose scuffed walls had been plastered over and decorated with lurid murals. Skeletons cavorted amongst diseased corpses. Three simple wooden doors each bore a painting of a scythe-wielding skeleton. A mural covered a pair of double doors depicting the pyramid foundation of Castle Korvosa guarded by another pair of scythe-wielding skeletons.

Khaen shuddered. "What kind of lab is this?"

"Probably the kind producing the disease and cure together," said Venin. "I think we're gonna need to split up."

Just looking at the necromantic murals told Trisaor this was absolutely the worst place to be splitting up. But it was only a matter of time before they got caught, so the quicker they were the better. "Fine. Meet back here in an hour. If no one has the cure, maybe we can try to get some from upstairs."

With that, the tieflings each picked a door and set out into this creepy place's unhallowed halls.


	4. Chapter 4

Khaen’s door brought her down stone tunnels that emptied into a chamber whose walls were lined with dozens of the living dead, their rotting faces sneering and broken fingers clawing at each other. A layer of the zombies carpeted the floor, their shattered forms twitching in vain, bones and splintered appendages grasping hopelessly. Yet, rather than some massive, nightmare grave, the horror-show seemed to be...even more ghoulish and stomach-churning attempt at art than at the Carowyns’ manor, as the mangled living dead laid trapped behind walls and a floor of thick glass.

The tiefling hurried through, desperately trying neither to look nor to puke into her mask. At the end of the necromantic art installation, a long hall opened into a circular chamber rising into a high dome of black marble. Khaen froze, her echoing footsteps dying into spine-tingling, all-consuming silence.

Seven basins jutted from the walls, ensconced within evenly spaced alcoves that circled the room. Each was filled to the brim with a unique liquid corruption—blood, bile, milk, or other unidentifiable fluid. Thus, the air was filled with a noxious, eye-watering reek. On the floor around each basin laid several, small wooden boxes identical to the one that Zelar had found. Each held some gristly specimen--rats, blood, flesh--the tiefling shivered to look at them.

At the room’s center, rising from a wide black pool of crystalline water, rose a golden statue both erotic and horrifying. The statue depicted a nude, striking woman with a scythe, human above the waist, but a skeleton below. An actual woman with a scythe on her back stood from kneeling before the pool. She wore revealing black robes beneath a dark metal breastplate. An onyx unholy symbol of a skull-decorated fly served as the pin of her black-feathered cloak.

Her glacial stare bored straight through Khaen’s beaked mask. “I did not summon a doctor.”

“No, sorry, of course not,” said the tiefling, backing away. “I’ll just be go--”

“Stop.”

Khaen froze, not daring to defy the scary lady in the even scarier disease room. She attempted a stretched, placating smile despite her all-concealing head covering.

“What brings you to the temple of Lady Despair?”

The tiefling cleared her throat with a cough. She had no idea just how lucky she was that the mask material obscured her high-pitched terror. “Uh, despair. I came to, uh, pray to, uh, make more despair because, uh, I feel like I’m not hitting my despair quota.”

The high priestess quirked her brow. “I wasn’t aware we had converted one of the Queen’s Physicians to the unhallowed fold of Urgathoa.”

“Uh, yeah,” said Khaen, having no idea who this Urgatoa was outside of apparently being some necromantic goddess. “Working this close with, uh, all this has really opened my eyes. It’s not enough for me to be just a doctor anymore. I, uh, wanna be a doctor of despair.”

The woman’s black-painted lips spread into a ghastly smile. She held out a hand to the disguised tiefling. “Come, then. I shall teach you to pray.”

[Ability traced: battle rage, you or a touched ally gains a bonus to melee damage equal to half your level for one round]

Venin followed the skeleton-muraled stone tunnels to a high-ceilinged chamber choked with the acrid scent of harsh chemicals. Two huge glass vats reinforced with metal bands around the outside bubbled here, each more than 6ft tall. One was filled with the viscous green fluid she’d seen the doctor carry out. The other was filled with a reddish-brown slurry.

A sturdy series of metal catwalks 10ft off the ground stretched over and around the vats, allowing those above in black clerical robes to attend the gigantic vessels. Circling the upper portion of the room was an elaborate mosaic of white, black, and green stone that depicted a giant half-corpse in black veils dancing among fields of the dead, undead, and dying. Venin immediately recognized Urgathoa, evil goddess of gluttony, disease, and undeath, from the books she’d devoured in the library of Castle Korvosa, another lifetime ago.

She scowled beneath her mask. These evil fucking cultists had nowhere near the resources to set up such an elaborate facility and pass their plague through all of Korvosa en masse. This was Ilesa’s doing.

Practically vibrating with outrage, Venin scaled the metal scaffolding to the catwalks. The priests didn’t stop her, but the nearest two walked over in puzzlement.

“Did the faucet get clogged up again, doc?”

Instead of answering, she shot a bolt of web from either hand. The sticky threads hit both priests in the chest and stuck fast. Before they could do more than grunt in surprise, she used her leverage to yank both over the rail into the vat of red slurry. To a splashing, screaming death.

“Help! Help!” Venin shouted as the other four ran over. 

She yanked the nearest two over the rail as well before the last couple caught on to what she was doing. But there was only one way down the catwalks to help, and she and her dagger stood between them and the scaffold. They never made it down. She dumped their corpses into the vat with the others. 

By the time anyone missed those gods-damned cultists, she and her siblings would be long gone from this place. Venin only regretted that she couldn’t firebomb the entire facility, but that would definitely draw attention.

[Level up]

[Ability traced: battle rage]

Trisaor’s tunnel led to a tri-partite hallway with three doors, one central and two on either wing. The central door was opposite them, so they tried it first. Inside were eight cold, iron beds with thin, stained and threadbare mattresses. Their sharp frames were threaded with worn manacles and leather straps.

Six patients laid strapped to the beds in various states of consciousness, their combined moans and murmurs filling the room. Between them stood small tables strewn with gore-soaked pans, flasks of unknown fluids, and all manner of cruel cutting implements. A sizable brown-crimson stain covered much of the side wall, as if all the blood from a body once held there had exploded forth in a single violent eruption.

One of the patients was unequivocally dead. Three were somewhere between unconsciousness and undeath. Their bodies thrashed, twitched, and let out zombified groans. The other two were semi-conscious though coughing violently and whimpering through their fevered haze.

The two still-living patients were agathion-blooded aasimars and clearly related. They had the same olive brown skin and solid black eyes. The 18-year-old boy had platinum blond hair and two long, white rabbit ears. The 18-year-old girl had black hair and black rabbit ears. They obviously didn’t have much time left, but if Trisaor could get them the cure, they just might pull through.

The disease-immune tiefling quietly shushed at them while unbuckling the leather straps. They came to an impasse, however, at the manacles. Clink! They turned around at the sound of metal keyring.

“Looking for these?”

Two Queen’s Physicians and two humans in black clerical robes flanked the bearer of the keys. He was a pale, blotchy, and scarred Korvosan with strong Chelish heritage. His thick leather robes were lined with dozens of pockets that bulged with surgical and mortician tools.

Trisaor had to think, fast. Which wasn’t exactly their forte. “Y-yes. Yeah, I was just gonna change these two’s bedpans. Those are the keys I was just about to ask for. From you.”

“Rolth,” the man helped.

“Ha-HA!” the tiefling fake-laughed through their chill at the name of the necromancer who’d purchased Khaen, likely to perform some horrible experiments on. “Rolth, ha, of course I know your name. I work here.”

The pale man smiled liplessly. “No. You don’t. Get them.”

The tiefling cast invisibility on themself and tried to run. Unfortunately, the necromancer cast see invisibility. There was nowhere to run with him directing the priests and doctors. 

Rolth’s lackeys tackled them to the floor. They ripped the mask off Trisaor’s head. The tiefling shouted for help on the slightest chance that their sisters might hear them. The priests and doctors kicked and struck their pinned body until they’d beaten the breath out of the pain-dazed intruder.

“Well, well, well,” said Rolth. “I lose one tiefling just to have another fall into my hands. That’s what I call providence. Strap them down.”

His lackeys carried the tiefling onto a free iron bed between the two bunnies. They locked Trisaor’s wrists together into manacles attached to the head board. Their legs were spread to lock their ankles into the manacles at either end of the foot board. Thick leather straps were buckled tight over their throat, chest, waist, and thighs.

Rolth pulled heavy shears from his pocket and spun them into his palm. He cut through their borrowed doctor’s coat, baring their pristine, trembling flesh. He couldn’t resist licking terrified tiefling from neck to nipple to slit. Like an animal, his eyes dilated and nostrils flared at the musk of cum and sex that lingered on the holes between their legs.

“What a filthy little slut you are, tiefling. What, you go and get a train run on you and then you break into the Hospice seeking a cure for the disease you incurred?” The necromancer let out a laugh as cold as death. “Well, as head of the lab department, I’d be in remiss if I let you leave without an injection or two.”

With that, he parted his robes, climbed onto the bed, and straddled their hips. Trisaor cried out as Rolth’s raping cock plunged into their fear-clenched asshole. The necromancer only laughed, pistoning fast, hard, and deep up their asshole. His dick expertly nailed their g-spot as he pounded his captive into the sickbed.

The tiefling’s manacles clanked against the iron bars of the head and footboard as they squirmed under Rolth and impaled on his raping dick. With each thrust churning their guts into spasms, however, Trisaor’s pained cries were fucked into shameful, animal squeals and gasps. Slick dripped from their empty pussy onto the filthy mattress.

The priests and doctors couldn’t simply stand by why their superior forced his cock injection into the newest patient. The priests climbed onto the aasimar boy’s bed and the doctors onto the girl’s. One straddled the bunny’s hips while the other grabbed the bunny’s ears and shoved a cock or cunt into their mouth.

The bunny twins coughed and choked awake as the priests or doctors raped them into orgasm. Their manacles clanked against the iron bars of the bed as their hips bucked with a mind of their own, backs arching uncontrollably. They were far too weak to stop their pathetic whimpering, much less the convulsions that wracked their bodies into rigid quivering.

What they could do, however, was keep the priests and doctors pounding them into the mattresses distracted. The tiefling sisters snuck up from behind. They slit the throats of Rolth, the priest, and the doctor pistoning in the captives’ assholes. The priest and doctor raping the bunnies’ throats were the next to fall, cum still spewing from their departed dicks.

Trisaor leveled up to gamer 6 and Khaen to gamer 7. The very dazed and confused twins received a mental notification about leveling up to gamer 3. Not that there was any time to explain. Venin went to pick up the large flask of green plague cure she’d taken from the vat room. Khaen unlocked the manacles of the living patients.

Trisaor and the twins put on the plague masks of the dead doctors. The eldest tiefling just had to hold their doctor’s coat together and hope no one noticed. Khaen helped the bunnies into the fallen physicians’ uniforms.

Once everyone was mostly presentable, the group walked as fast as inconspicuously possible back to the lift. Venin took the rear so the small crowd would hide the very large flask in her possession. They rode back up to the clinic level of the Hospice.

For once, their luck held out. No one gave them a second glance as they made their way to the back and out through the old loading bay. Once they were hidden by the throng of other warehouses, they ditched their outfits and Venin gave the aasimar brother and sister a sip of the cure.

“Th-thank you,” rasped the boy, Ruan.

“You saved us,” croaked the girl, Miru.

“Don’t mention it,” said Trisaor.

“No, seriously,” said Venin. “There aren’t a lot of tieflings in Korvosa, so we’d be tracked down, fast. There aren’t a lot of aasimar either, so I’d get out of the city if I were you.”

“Do you have somewhere you can go?” asked Khaen.

“Our aunt and uncle just moved to a new territory being settled. It’s between the River Kingdoms and Brevoy and doesn’t even have a name yet.”

“Wow, that’s up north isn’t it?” asked Trisaor.

“It is, but we really don’t have time to get into this,” said Venin. “Someone needs to bring a shot of the cure back to Zelar while I get the rest of this to Eel’s End.”

“I’ll take some back,” said Khaen. “Hey, do you two want to go back with me? You could spend the night and head out in the morning.”

“We’d really appreciate that,” said Ruan.

“Especially if you could spare a few clothes,” said Miru, giving her filthy hospital shift a tug.

“Of course,” said Trisaor. Their own, recently sheared clothes weren’t something they wanted to wear around that Devargo bastard. “Are you alright to head out there alone?”

“Already on it,” said Venin, taking off through the maze of warehouses.

The other four took the small flask she’d given Khaen and returned to the tenement. As with the twins, the tieflings’ youngest sibling showed immediate signs of improvement after sipping down the cure. Color returned to Zelar’s skin and their breathing eased noticeably.

Venin returned at the end of the hour with a triumphant smile. Of course Devargo had accepted the cure. The drug lord wouldn’t rest until he’d mass produced and distributed it throughout the hard-hit slums, bringing all of the Korvosan masses into his sphere of influence. The tieflings and aasimars, however, took a long and well-deserved sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Trisaor dipped into their earnings from Lavender House to give Ruan and Miru a few handfuls of coin to help the bunny twins make the long caravan journey to the new territory. The two left after a simple breakfast of porridge and eggs with the tiefling family and many thanks.

Since everyone was whole and hale and Trisaor didn’t have to be back at the brothel until the week’s end, they sat their siblings down for a talk about travel as well. “We did a good thing this week, but Korvosa is extremely unstable. There’s no telling what Ilesa will do when she learns a cure’s out on the street. She has all the power to track it back to Devargo, and I don’t trust him not to turn us in, too.

“The best thing we can do right now is get you out of here as fast as possible. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. We have enough money to buy you passage on a ship to Cheliax--they don’t give tieflings a second glance there. You’ll be able just to disappear.”

“Us disappear? What about you?” asked Zelar.

“They’re not going,” said Venin quietly.

“What? Why?” asked Khaen. “You just said Devargo would turn us in!”

“There’s a chance he won’t. And if he doesn’t, I need to stay here,” said Trisaor. “I have a job that pays right now. I can send money to support you in Cheliax. You wouldn’t have to scavenge or work. You could go to school, a real school.”

“What if he does betray us?” asked Zelar.

“One tiefling is easier to sneak out of the city than a whole family of them.”

“What if we don’t want to go?” asked Khaen. “We’re the only family we have. We should stay together.”

“We can’t go to school in Korvosa,” said Venin. “It’ll be too dangerous for us to be seen anywhere until we know how Ilesa decides to deal with Devargo. We’d be on lockdown for who knows how long. Trisaor’s right. The best thing for us to do is get out of here.”

“We won’t be separated for long,” said the eldest. “I promise. I’ll keep my job until I’ve got enough to support us all for a year, and then I’ll head south to join you.”

“The Infernal Empire is really big,” said Zelar. “Where would we go?”

“Maybe we should let the ship fares decide that one,” said Venin.

The cheapest tickets out of Korvosa were for the Chelish port city of Westcrown. For eight centuries, Westcrown was a bastion of civilization and a symbol of national strength in Chelish eyes. As the city served as the center of Aroden’s faith, all Cheliax deemed the City of Nine Stars to be the god of humanity’s next home in the mortal world. Yet, with Aroden’s unexpected death, the once shining City of Nine Stars became the City of Twilight. Decades of bloody strife followed, and the only direction out of the chaos seemed to be the orderly tenets of diabolism.

All the empire turned to the faith of Asmodeus, King of Hell. With the worship of the Archdevil, tieflings became more prevalent amongst the Chelish populace. And the worship of all other gods was outlawed, with a few diplomatic exceptions.

“So, are we--are we really doing this?” Khaen asked quietly from under the hood of her cloak.

“I have the money for your tickets now,” said Trisaor.

“Better to get them now before something else goes down in Korvosa and jacks up the fares again,” said Venin.

“Then...we’d leave this afternoon,” said Zelar, looking from the sign at the ticketmaster’s booth and back at their family with wide eyes.

Trisaor nodded with a wavering smile. They blinked hard but couldn’t keep the tears from welling up. None of them could. The family fell into a loving farewell embrace.

The eldest purchased the tickets to Westcrown. That afternoon, they had to watch, alone on the docks, as their beloved siblings stood at the rail of the ship and waved goodbye. It was a bittersweet moment. Trisaor was all alone in this god-forsaken city, but they knew for a fact that they’d gotten their family out alive.

Before the week was out, the plague’s nightmarishly swift spread had petered out. With its cure, however, came the rumors that the disease had been manufactured by servants of the queen. While the plague had effectively wiped out a large swath of the very people furious enough to rebel, it also united them in the web of the Spider King to whom they were eternally grateful.

So Korvosa’s simmering unrest only grew. The queen knew it. She didn’t dare strike at Devargo at his height of popularity amongst the common masses and turn him into their martyr. She did, however, set more and more patrols of Gray Maidens on the street. With her council, she devised more devious and oppressive laws and edicts to trap even potential rebels within a death sentence.

Such politicking was far from Trisaor’s mind and body. With thoughts of their siblings in mind, the tiefling returned to Lavender House to pick up their portion of the payment from the Carowyns’ corpse party...and submit to whatever merciless training exercise Madam Vedra had in store.

The Vudrani offered her latest employee a small but not displeased smile when the tiefling walked into her office. “So you survived. That IS a surprise. Come, have a seat.”

“Wait, so you knew what you were sending me into?”

“Look, everyone knows nobles are batshit. And you survived, so it’s all in the past. Now, what do you know about the Arkonas?”

“Are they more nobles?”

Madam Vedra smiled, unpleasantly this time. As Vudrani immigrants, the Arkonas were given an estate in Old Korvosa, making them the only noble family on the city’s slum-wide island. The family was ruled by married partners Bahor (he/they) and Vima (she/they). The two had sired four adult children, all of whom had sought out Lavender House after learning of its new, tiefling employee.

“They’ve requested you in our finest private chamber, and you’re going to service them all night,” said the madam.

Trisaor offered a much weaker smile back. More batshit nobles to entertain. Greaaat.

The tiefling was made to strip naked and put on their collar and leash. Madam Vedra used a silken but sturdy rope to bind their upper body in a compact box tie. Their arms were bent behind their back and lashed together at the wrists. A short length of rope fastened to those around their upper arms kept their wrists from descending to a more comfortable position. Their breasts were bound over, under, and between, putting them on lewd display.

As for their legs, the madam brought out a short bamboo spreader bar. She used the same rope to bind the tiefling’s thighs to either end just above their knees. It made walking a difficult, humiliating affair and running, impossible.

Finished, she took hold of Trisaor’s leash and led them hobbling through the brothel on a meandering, advertising route to the private room. The tiefling flushed with shame at the hoots and jeers of the patrons. Helpless to stop them, they grabbed and groped at their tits, ass, and pussy as they passed. A few even managed to jab their fingers up either of the tight, exposed holes between their legs.

Trisaor was actually relieved when Madam Vedra stopped outside a grand door on the third and highest floor hallway. They’d been sold to a mere four patrons for the night. Surely that couldn’t be as bad as having to entertain everyone down in the lobby.

The door opened to a lavish suite combining a bedroom, lounge, and bathroom. The four Arkonas were lounging on divans and chaises in rich silk robes. Like most Vudrani, they were dark-skinned with thick, wavy black hair. Their eyes were a shifting hazel, changing in the light from grayish green to amber and every shade between. They rose to their feet with...unnatural grace at the sight of their sex slave for the night.

“Sabrie, looks like you had no choice but to join us after all,” said the first, calling Trisaor by their sister’s name--the queen’s right hand, bodyguard, and commander of the Gray Maidens.

“Play along,” the madam hissed in their ear before shutting the door behind them.

Trisaor scrambled to think as fast as they could. Sabrie was a proud young woman, strong. She’d rather die than surrender or be taken captive. She would fucking hate this.

“I’m gonna kill you, you soft, spoiled pricks!” The tiefling ran at the first and nearest Arkona with a snarl. And was immediately hobbled and tripped by the spreader bar. They landed hard on their face, chest, and knees, ass in the air.

The Arkonas laughed mockingly. They tried to at least sit up on their knees, glowering, but the first stomped their foot down between their shoulder blades, pinning Trisaor to the floor.

“No, I rather like the look of you on your knees. That’s a good face.” The noble brat spat onto their glower. “Fight all you want, Sabrie, but we’re going to break you.”

The Arkonas’ laughter took on a growling undertone. The four shifted into their true forms. The first and third were tiger-headed humanoids. The second and fourth were fox-headed. All had clawed, backward-bending fingers and razor-sharp teeth. 

Trisaor’s trace ability informed them that these Arkonas were not tieflings but true shapeshifting fiends, rakshasas. The tiefling could only try not to break face as they swallowed hard in fear. It didn’t help that the four shed their robes, revealing large, knotted cocks.

The first kept them pinned to the floor while the fox-headed second got down behind them. He grabbed their hips and shoved his cock up their asshole with a low, feral growl. Trisaor grunted through clenched teeth at the pain as his dick tore up their ass, but Sabrie wouldn't have broken down, so they couldn't either.

"What a useless mouth you've got there. Come on you worthless slut, open up." The first removed their foot and pulled the tiefling up to sitting with a hand on horn and another pinching their nose, forcing them to open their mouth to breath. The Arkona brat impaled their mouth on their cock all the way to the knot.

Trisaor coughed and choked for breath as they were mercilessly reamed from both ends. With all the sweat, pounding, and jostling, the rakshasas forces their knots into the mouth and ass of their kneeling, captive bitch.

The tiefling's eyes bulged. The immense pressure in their throat and ass was too much. Sabrie wouldn't have broken, but the Arkonas fucked out every last ounce of Trisaor's control. They let out a squealing nasal moan on the first's knotted cock as their bound body wracked in rigid quivering against their ropes. Twined pleasure and pain speared up their knotted ass all the way to the tips of their horns.

Stuffed and impaled on the siblings' knotted cocks, Trisaor was forced to cum again and again as the brats continued their brutal pistoning. When they finally finished pumping them full of their hot, sticky loads, the tiefling's eyes were rolling back in their skull.

They collapsed in a quivering heap on the floor when the two pulled out. The nobles' seed oozed out from their panting mouth and spasming asshole. Their own slick ran lewd and shameful down their inner thighs.

"Come on, Sabrie. That can't be all the fight you have left, you filthy cumdump," jeered the third. "You're here all night, remember?"

Trisaor managed a weak snarl, made all the more pathetic by the seed splattering from their mouth onto their bound tits. For their efforts, they were mocked, slapped across the face, and thrown onto the bed on their back and bound arms.

The tiger-headed third climbed up after them. They threw the tiefling’s calves over their broad, powerful shoulders and screwed their dick up their shamefully wet and flushed pussy.

“No! No! Don’t cum in there you fucking Arkona bastard!” Trisaor screamed, their protest more high-pitched than powerful. How were they to know a stranger’s cum had already taken root inside them?

The tiger gave them a toothy, sadistic grin. “Then make me stop, o high commander.”

The brat drove their cock in low, crushing Trisaor’s tits against their own thighs. In only a few powerful strokes, the tiefling’s pussy was so wet they were able to force their knot up the tight, hot squeeze. The tiger’s knotted bitch shrieked in pain, panic, and--

Trisaor’s back arched, hips bucking wildly against the brat whose knotted cock was forcing them into such humiliating pleasure. The tiefling clenched their teeth as their flesh convulsed in uncontrollable orgasm, but they couldn’t stop the animal moans from their nose. The tiger let out a feral growl at the sight of their knotted fucktoy writhing under them and on their cock, and pistoned them even more brutally into the mattress.

“Let me help really stick it to this stuck-up bitch,” said the fox-headed fourth.

The third rolled onto their back with the knotted tiefling over them. Their sister came up behind Trisaor, sandwiching them between the rakshasas, and plowed her cock up their sensitized asshole. The overstimulated tiefling squealed, twitching and jerking between the fox and tiger like an electrified undead as wave after wave of agonized ecstasy exploded up their overstuffed ass and pussy.

The Arkona sister, even more ruthless than her older siblings, immediately slammed her knot through the tiefling’s spasming asshole. It was far, far too much for Trisaor. Every last shred of consciousness was ripped from their mind as the noble brats fucked and screwed them unconscious. Even then, there was no escape. The fox and tiger’s knotted dicks forced their ass and pussy to clamp and convulse as they pumped the tiefling’s helpless flesh full of their fiendish cum.


	6. Chapter 6

Trisaor’s torture at the hands of the rakshasa siblings had only just begun. They had no intention of letting the tiefling’s unconscious body rest. The four stuffed a vibrating dildo into their ass and pussy, laughing as their helpless body whimpered, quivered, and jerked in their sleep.

They stuffed a second, penetrating dildo up Trisaor's ass and pussy to force them into more violently shuddering pleasure. The blacked out tiefling drooled as they writhed in their filthy puddle of cum and slick on the bed.

“That worthless, cum-brained slut doesn’t deserve the bed,” said the vixen.

“You’re right,” said the first. They kicked that bound heap of quivering flesh off the bed and onto the floor.

The tiefling grunted but, continuously forced to cum by the dildos doubly stuffing their ass and pussy, fell back into their unconscious twitching and trembling. It was a moving sight...to animal lust.

The tigers and foxes took turns cumming down Trisaor’s throat and all over their body, coating them in seed. Then they dumped the unconscious tiefling over the back of a divan and yanked out the enchanted dildos. The rakshasas pumped their ass and pussy full to overflowing with cum, cruelly delighting in the sight of their seed oozing down Trisaor’s trembling, forcibly spread thighs.

By the time one finished, the other three siblings were hard again. Thus, Trisaor awoke, balled up in the seat of a large chair with their thighs crushed against their bound tits, the fox brother railing his knotted cock into their red, swollen pussy. The tiefling screamed in equal measures of unbidden pain and pleasure. Their pussy clamped wet and hard around their master’s dick and knot with a cum-brained mind of its own.

The fox fucked his knotted bitch even harder, pounding them into lewd and shameful orgasm. Their calves kicked uselessly over his lean, narrow shoulders. The tiefling’s tongue lolled from their mouth like a dog’s. They were forced to take the explosive pleasure of every thrust until the fox had fucked them full of his cum.

Then his younger tiger sibling took his place, reaming Trisaor’s cum-filled ass into the chair. The eldest tiger and youngest vixen watched with dilated pupils, licking their lips. Taking their feral, fiendish urges out on ‘Sabrie’ was just too delightful to be relegated to a single night.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” asked the vixen, stroking her cock.

“If that involves kidnapping a certain worthless cumslut and enslaving them to our cocks back at the manor, then yes.”

“Darling, you read my mind.”

When the younger tiger finished, the Arkona brats plugged Trisaor’s holes back up with the vibrating dildos. With the tiefling awake, they had to muffle their screams with a ball gag. They removed their spreader bar and used the rope to lash their twitching, jerking legs together at the knees and ankles. To further hamper their prey’s squirming, they wrapped Trisaor’s body up in one of the room’s finely woven carpets.

The eldest tiger threw the helpless, carpet-bagged tiefling over their shoulder and cast invisibility sphere over both of them. The other Arkonas cast invisibility on themselves as well and leapt lightly down from the window. They snuck their new sex slave from the brothel and back to their lavish manor in Old Korvosa.

Not that the haplessly kidnapped and enslaved Trisaor could see it, but Palace Arkona was perched at the highest point atop its own isle in Old Korvosa. The grounds were open and sprawling, decorated with copses of jungle trees, topiary elephants, cobras, and tigers, vibrant flower gardens, and tiled fountains. The palace itself was a breathtaking structure built in the Vudran style, with golden pillars, minarets, and domes decorated with slender spires. 

Inside, the walls were made of ebony and carved with depictions of elephants, tigers, monkeys, and peacocks. Their eyes shimmered all with mother-of-pearl, bloodstones, or other precious gems. Doors were made of mahogany and carved with images of the Vudran deity Chamidu, the God of Wild Beasts, a six-armed, four-faced giant who rode a tiger with human hands for paws.

At this time of night, everburning torches lit each of the grand, spacious rooms. Tropical plants in clay pots were in abundance, and each room was rich with their scent, mingled with that of the heady sandalwood incense that burned in brass censers that hung from the ceilings. The intoxicating odors added a lurid, dreamlike layer to the grotesque paintings and tapestries depicting torture, murder, cannibalism, necrophilia, and other vile delights that hung from the walls.

The Arkona brats felt it only fitting to haul their latest capture into the trophy hall. They flung open the carpet, letting the tiefling roll out and worm on the floor as the dildos kept them cumming out of their mind. The tiger eldest bent their bound prey over one of the glass weapon cases and yanked out the dildos to christen their enslaved ass with their noble seed.

The fox brother climbed over to the other side of the glass case to rape Trisaor’s throat on his knot and cock. When they’d finished, the younger pair of siblings took their place, the tiger fucking the tiefling’s skull and the vixen raping their pussy.

The first light of dawn filtered in through the high windows that rose to tapered points by the time the four brats were finally through with their sex slave. They let the battered, exhausted, cum-stuffed tiefling fall from the glass case onto the carpeted floor. And left them there to stew in their seed while they went off for rich wines and raw meat.

Trisaor, completely broken, kidnapped, and enslaved in this strange new place, shook with silently sobbing tears. Then came the mental notifications.

[Ability traced: spell resistance, gain spell resistance equal to 15 plus total level]

[Ability traced: natural armor, gain +9 natural armor]

[Ability traced: change shape, take the form of any small or medium humanoid]

It was so absolutely ridiculous in this, their lowest moment, that their tears turned to equally silent and shaking laughter. What the fuck? What the actual fuck, Lantern King?

[Trisaor, they/them 17,485/23,000 XP  
Chelish (erinyes) devil-spawn tiefling, 19yrs, bard 4/gamer 6  
Initiative 8; Senses darkvision 60ft  
Defense  
AC 23 (natural armor +9)  
HP 43  
Fortitude 3, Reflex 9, Will 6  
Defensive abilities uncanny dodge, +4 v. bard, sonic, language effects, resist 5 cold, electricity, fire; Immune mind-affecting, disease; SR 25  
Offense  
Speed 30ft  
Melee --  
Special attacks sneak attack +3d6  
Spell-like abilities (CL 10)  
1/day darkness  
Spells (CL 10; max DC 16)  
2nd invisibility  
1st cure light wounds, feather fall, comprehend language  
0 (at will) read magic, mending, prestidigitation  
Statistics  
Str 10, Dex 19, Con 13, Int 12, Wis 8, Cha 18  
BAB 6  
Feats improved initiative, discordant voice, arcane strike, iron will  
Languages Common, Infernal, Varisian  
SQ trace, finesse training  
Gear --  
Special abilities  
Bardic music  
Change shape]

It was some kind of...character sheet for the Lantern King’s fucked up game of life. There was one thing that stood out despite the ridiculous, dismissable nature of it all. Trisaor wasn’t simply a devil-spawn tiefling. They finally knew which kind of infernal fiend had infiltrated their mother’s blood, an erinyes.

These devils were known by many names, including the Furies. Their beautiful, ash-winged forms mocked those of angels as they wrecked their bloody vengeance and executions. Death was the only escape from the tortures and punishments of an erinyes on the warpath.

The tiefling’s fever-brained laughter quieted down to a small, thin smile. So this was their true nature. They were a being of vengeance. Even now, they could feel a small, cold, iron seed of resolve harden in their belly. 

Yes, Trisaor had been enslaved to the sadistic Arkonas. But they were not the same tiefling they’d been while working at the docks. They would bide their time. They would find an opportunity. And they would strike, without mercy.


	7. Book 2, Orik

Once a secret pirate haven, Riddleport had grown over the last three centuries into a port city-state in its own right, albeit one run by crime bosses. At first, it had served as a hideout from which to conduct raids against Chelish merchant vessels bound for Korvosa, but over time the city had expanded into a true settlement, the frontier’s frontier, the northernmost outpost on the lonely strip known as the Lost Coast. Yet Riddleport remained true to its roots—you could get rich quick if you had the luck, but for every Riddleport success story there were a hundred nameless bodies buried in potters’ fields or tossed to the hungry denizens of the sea.

Having taken a caravan on an overland route from Korvosa to Riddleport, the Varisian mercenary Orik walked into the city from the north. The first thing he did was head to a tavern, buy a warm autumn ale, and ask around for his old man Saul. Unlike his search for his twin back in ‘little Cheliax,’ the random tavernkeep here knew exactly who he was talking about from the name and description AND where to find him.

Orik was directed to the Wharf District, a raucous sector on the edge of the docks where much of the city’s day-to-day commerce and thievery went down. Once the most commercially successful portion of the city, its aged facade had seen much of the action move northward to the Free-Coin District, leaving the Wharf a tattered shadow of its former self. Inns and shops had grimed-over windows, their walls peeling with paint. But it suited Saul just fine, being the biggest fish in the most woe-begotten pond.

His business was certainly the most ostentatious in its rundown neighborhood. A wide veranda ran along the front between two short wings of the building. Atop it sat a massive, brass half-dome tarnished and marred by years of weathering, now bearing a patina of greenish brown. Standing before the main doors was an 8ft-tall statue cast in glittering, gold-painted brass that resembled a gigantic goblin balancing its dogslicer on a pile of gold with a smug smile--Orik guessed that this was the titular Gold Goblin.

He walked up the stairs to the main doors. It was only mid-afternoon and the gambling hall/saloon/brothel was already in full swing. Dozens thronged in the main hall between tables of card, dice, and wheel games. Scantily clad sex workers weaved between them, making sure to brush skin-to-skin, carrying drinks from the bar and perching on laps.

“Special occasion?” Orik asked the pair of bouncers outside the doors.

“First day for the new sex slave and she’s a real looker,” said one. “Public use for a pittance.”

“Best way to train these sluts,” said the other. “Nothing breaks them down faster than a whole night of getting every hole raped.”

The mercenary blinked, genuinely taken aback. Everyone knew Riddleport was Varisian’s roughest, dirtiest city-state, but he hadn’t realized its latest self-proclaimed overlord, Cromarc, most powerful of the crime bosses, had legalized slavery. Not only that, but his own father had not only accepted slavery but was using it in its most violating form to line his pockets.

Orik’s face steeled over into a grim, murderous mask. He stalked toward the doors, but the bouncers stepped in front of him.

“It’s one gold to enter, ya horny bastard.”

Of course it was. The merc handed over his last gold piece. The bouncers stepped aside.

“Thanks. Enjoy it, buddy.”

Not likely. He couldn’t imagine enjoying beating the shit out of his old man, much less murdering him. At best, the now-broke mercenary would end up ‘carving out’ a reputation for himself and gain ownership of the Gold Goblin to sell and put himself back into the red. “Just tell me where I can find Saul.”

“Probably keeping his eye on the brothel wing.”

Right. Orik made his way through the gambling hall to an even more crowded, raucous, and carousing hall to the side. The patrons gathered en masse around the end of a walkway stage. A very peculiar set of stocks restrained the new, naked slavegirl there. She was bent over, the holes around her waist and wrists locking her hands behind her back as well as separating her upper and lower body on either side of the short, wooden wall.

The 18-year-old had olive brown skin and an unnaturally stunning beauty in her flesh. Her snow-white hair floated with a life of its own around her shoulders. As the customer raping her skull with their cock pulled out, she raised her head, getting a faceful of cum.

The Varisian aasimar grit her teeth, still getting her ass reamed on the other side of the stocks. But as her solid black eyes met Orik’s hazel ones, both of their jaws fell slack. There was no mistaking that terrifyingly lovely face and the spiky glyph burned onto her forehead.

“Nua?”

“Or--mmph!” She gagged on the next dick shoved down her throat. As her choking throat constricted, so did her ass around her rapist’s cock.

The customer taking her from behind grabbed the top of the stocks to brace themself as they nailed her ass into the sturdy but rattling wood. Every thrust pounded her g-spot into her guts. After hours of taking patrons’ cum, piss, and penetrations, Nua’s self-control slipped from her clenched fingers.

Her thighs trembled, her entire body snapping into rigid quivering against the explosion of pleasure wracking out from her clamping ass to fry the end of every nerve. She let out a shameful, nasal moan around the cock fucking her throat. Slick squirted down her inner thighs and onto her bare feet.

The customer blew their load into her uncontrollably spasming ass. They pulled out just in time to let the last drops of their seed mark her perfectly rounded asscheeks. And was immediately replaced by a new patron who groped her hips and plowed his dick into her well-raped, cum-sticky pussy.

Orik and his former boss-turned-sex-slave hadn’t parted on the best of terms, but that didn’t keep his hand from reaching for the bastard sword on his back at the sight of her getting brutally raped into forced orgasms at the hands of these vile dirtbags. Only, before he could begin his killing spree, a thick hand grabbed his shoulder. The merc found himself pulled into a bear hug.

“Orik! Oh, thank Lady Luck it’s you--you have to save me,” said Saul, stepping back to hold his son at arm’s length. He was a short, heavy Varisian with thinning brown hair slicked back to the point of shining with oil. The man was a born liar, but there wasn’t a hint of deception in his face or his hushed, desperate tone.

The merc stayed his hand. “What the Hell are you talking about?”

“Follow me to my office.” Saul grabbed his wrist and pulled him away from the ravenous crowd to the back of the stage and up a staircase. He said nothing else until he’d shut the office door behind them. And poured them both a drink into grimy mugs with shaking hands. “It's Deo, they've got my balls in the nutcracker.”

"Who's this Deo? Look, just start from the beginning."

Saul had never been a successful businessman, not on his own, anyway. That hadn't stopped him from trying, however, as he had with the Gold Goblin. He’d discovered the condemned property in the Wharf District and believed it to be full of promise. So he took out a loan and bought it from Overlord Cromarc.

Then he took out more loans to bring it back into working order. He figured there was no way he could go wrong with a gambling hall/saloon/brothel. Surely it’d pay for itself within a year if not the first 3-6 months. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Saul sank deeper and deeper into debt, owing staggering millions in gold to Cromarc. When he failed to make payment after payment, Riddleport’s most powerful crime boss began to send their threatening messages. All Saul wanted was to cut and run, but Cromarc made it sterling clear that doing so would end in a fate worse than death.

Then Deo Azrinae showed up on his doorstep like a gift from Lady Luck herself. The drow noble hailing from some city called Zirnakaynin offered not only the gold to start paying off his debts but also their business savvy to turn the Gold Goblin’s misfortune on its head. All Saul had to do was sell himself and his property to this mysterious patron.

“Wait, you mean you sold yourself into slavery?”

“Yeah, but that stays between us. Deo wanted a human face to run this place--I don’t think they’re on great terms with the overlord either.”

“So it’s Deo who’s been stocking this place full of slaves?”

Saul rubbed his hands nervously. “That isn’t even the start of it. Deo--I think Deo might be a real crime boss, or trying to become one.”

“Crime boss or not, they can die like anyone else.”

“No, no, Deo’s too strong. They’ve got the kind of magic you only hear about in stories, always teleporting off to their Zirnakaynin. They’ve got powerful connections there for sure. Any strike against Deo would get your old man carted off to be a real slave like everyone else who can’t pay their debts to the Goblin.”

“Then how do I help you?”

“I...I don’t know yet. Deo’s gotta have some weakness, but I haven’t been able to find it. I could hire you on as a guard and enforcer, and you could help me look. Better not let anyone know we’re related, though.”

Orik agreed with that last part. The rest of it, he wasn’t too keen on. “Would I be working for you? Or for Deo?”

“Me, of course! Well, I mean--Deo and I are partners on paper. The drow hasn’t really shown their face around here, but the employees know their name. So, what do you say?”

“That new slavegirl. Let her go.”

“I...can’t. She’s Deo’s. All the sex slaves are. Just like me.”

“After we end Deo, the slavery ends, too. That’s the deal.”

“Yes! Absolutely! You got yourself a deal, Orik. Now, just sign these papers here.”

Once he’d signed, his old man took him for a tour of the Gold Goblin. As a guard, he’d have a shift sometime between the afternoon and night where he’d patrol the grounds. The gambling hall had a cashier’s cage and vault that naturally needed an eye on. The saloon wing had the occasional fight break out. As long as the patrons kept it to bare knuckles, they were allowed to beat the shit out of each other. It was drawn weapons and property damage that were cause for intervention.

The brothel wing’s rooms were all on the second floor. As all the workers were slaves, however, there was a lot more gray in terms of ‘acceptable behavior.’ Almost anything was allowed so long as the customer had paid for it beforehand. If something untoward happened while renting a sex slave, Orik’s duty as a guard was to stop the responsible party from leaving before making monetary amends.

The rest of the second story offered private apartments and offices for the staff and discerning guests. The back of the Goblin held the pantry, cellar, washroom, and other utility areas. Orik got a bunk of his own and lockbox in the staff room. Food and drink were also on the house.

By the time the tour was over, he took the last shift of the night as his first. There were two others patrolling the grounds with him. They used the security catwalks over the crowds so their menacing faces didn’t risk putting a damper on their fun. As casually as he could, Orik kept an eye on his former boss from above.

When the Gold Goblin finally closed its doors in the dark hours of the early morning, he got hold of the key to let her out of the stocks. Nua, exhausted, battered, and covered in customers’ filth, immediately collapsed. Orik caught her before she hit the floor or her head against the heavy wooden restraints.

“You,” she murmured, eyes fluttering in semi-consciousness.

“I’m gonna get you out of here,” he said, keeping his voice hushed.

Nua gave a small, doubtful smile. “You can’t, Orik. If you’re here, you’re just as fucked as the rest of us.”

He shook his head but said nothing else as he carried her into the washroom. She sat in a slumped seat against the wall, letting him wash her. She had nothing to say to him either. Not knowing why he did it, Orik supported her on his arm and walked her up to the brothel rooms with the rest of the slaves.

He didn’t owe her that much. She knew it. He knew it. Orik just...pitied what she’d become. It was the kind of fate he might’ve ended up suffering himself. He closed the door, a muscle flexing in his jaw.

Deo was going to pay.


	8. Chapter 8

Orik woke the next morning in a state of confusion. He was in a bunk in a long barracks. A few strangers walked in and out through the door.

One jerked their chin in a nod at him. “There’s a train running on the new girl, if you want to get some of that prime aasimar ass.”

He jolted upright. Saul. The Gold Goblin. Nua. Orik jumped out of bed and ran to the brothel wing.

Sure enough, it was packed with half of the dozen or so Goblin employees. The new sex slave was bound spread-eagled on her stomach to her own bed. One of the staff had slid in under her, pistoning his cock into her pussy. Another had grabbed fistfuls of Nua’s white hair and was forcing her head down on her cunt. From behind, two of the slimmer staff members had squeezed between her legs to thrust both their dicks up her ass.

Overstuffed by raping cocks, the slavegirl was getting the fuck raped out of her from all ends. Her bound, naked body convulsed with every gut-churning thrust into her ass and pussy, forcing her shafts to clench and wrap tight around the rapists pumping her full of their cum. She grunted in pain onto the cunt gagging her mouth.

Meanwhile, four others stroked their hardened cocks and fingered their wet cunts. They laughed as Nua’s back arched, fingers and toes clenching uncontrollably at the orgasms being raped into her ass and pussy. They groped and smacked her ripe, fertile flesh, rubbing themselves against their cumdump’s dewy skin.

Something snapped inside Orik at the sight. With a feral snarl, he shot web into the waiting crowd. And charged in swinging at the group gang raping the slavegirl. He punched their fucking lights out.

Nua’s rapists came at him, thinking they had the upper hand with their numbers. The filthy bastards didn’t know what hit them. Orik the gamer knocked them all out.

He unbound her wrists and ankles and helped her sit up. She angrily spat out a mouthful of cum and slick, wiping her mouth on her arm.

“You ok?”

The sex slave glowered at him. “Do I look ok?”

Fortunately, he didn’t have to answer that. Heavy, running steps sounded down the hall.

“What the Hell happened here?” asked Saul, panting.

“A gang bang that couldn’t handle the banging,” said Orik.

His old man nodded, impressed. “Hey, I know I said you’d have the morning to yourself, but I’ve got an errand you’d be perfect for...and no one else is conscious enough to handle. What do you say?”

“She comes with me.” He sure as fuck wasn’t letting her wait around here for this lot to wake up, angry and out for vengeance. And who knew how long their fury would simmer.

“Yeah, and gimme my fucking sword and armor back.”

“N-no! No way! You’d run away,” accused Saul.

“I WOULD if that Deo bastard hadn’t put tracking spells on all the slaves.”

Shit, that included his dad. Not being able to kill this drow noble was really making this complicated. Well, one thing at a time. Baby steps. “What’s this errand?”

Saul had ordered a shipment of very expensive liquor for the Goblin’s high rollers. It had arrived at the docks this morning and was currently awaiting offloading from the cog that shipped it. There were only four casks, but they were of such high quality that any of the crime bosses who got wind of it might claim it for their own use, which wouldn’t go down well with Deo.

So Orik and Nua geared up and headed down to the wharves with a cart in tow. They walked and clattered down the grimy, cobblestone street.

“Nua?”

“What?”

“I always wondered, what’s that glyph on your forehead?”

The aasimar pursed her lips. Once, she might’ve slapped the shit out of him for daring to speak of it. Back when he was her underling. Things were...different now.

“The Skinsaw Men mark everyone in their cult with the Sin worshipped by their sect. The group I knew worshipped Wrath and, to a lesser extent, a pantheon of deities who embodied Wrath. Lamashtu was one of them.” Nua absently touched the Mother of Monster’s unholy symbol that hung just below her collarbone.

“These Skinsaw Men--” The question would have to wait.

One of Riddleport’s crime bosses had indeed gotten wind of the shipment. A rough-looking group of thugs stood with the ship’s captain, overseeing the offloading of the casks by stevedores. Orik jogged up to them, Nua close on his heels.

“Hey, that shipment belongs to the Gold Goblin,” said Orik.

“Yeah, no, not if Boss Clegg has anything to say about it,” said the head thug.

Nua turned a blistering stare onto the cog’s captain. “You’re really gonna just stand here and let these fools steal your cargo?”

The woman shrugged. “Eh, I was just paid to deliver. I don’t care who comes for the pick-up.”

No help there. Fine. Orik drew his sword. “Hand over the casks, or this gets ugly.”

“Hey! Didn’t you hear we’re with Boss Clegg?” The head thug drew her longsword, prompting the four with her to draw their weapons as well.

“We don’t give a shit,” said Nua. She unsheathed her own bastard sword and swung it into the head’s head in the same motion. Then kicked the bleeding-out body off the dock.

Her four compatriots tried to retaliate before running by ganging up on Orik, whom they assumed was the weaker of the pair. A fatal assumption. His bastard sword and poisoned bite cleaved through them like a heated knife through butter.

“We’ll be taking the casks,” he told the captain as the bodies splashed into the harbor from Nua’s kicks.

“Like I said, your business,” said the captain, holding up her hands inoffensively. “You might just have gotten yourselves on the bad side of Boss Clegg, though.”

“Like we said, we don’t give a shit,” said Nua.

True enough. Orik loaded up the casks into their cart with Nua’s help. Only once they’d finished did he notice the pensive look on her face.

“Are you rethinking our stance on the crime boss?”

“No. It’s just...after that little scrap, I got this weird, like, mental notification.”

“Was it something about leveling up as a gamer?”

She gaped at him. “Yes. Yeah, gamer 2. And something about tracing this ability called armor training off that dumbass head thug. What in the Abyss is this?”

He explained to her about the Lantern King’s favor and how it could pass to allies. The funniest thing about it, of course, being that it all started with the two kids she’d once tried to have him kill. “Garnet and Red, nice kids. They’re students at Turandurok.”

Nua shook her head incredulously. “What a weird, small world.”

Maybe not so weird. Saul was predictably freaked out when Orik mentioned the run-in with Boss Clegg’s underlings once they were back in his office.

“So what, you want to send a peace offering?” he asked.

“That-that’s not gonna cut it. I had a couple missteps with Boss Clegg in the past. Oh goddess, he’s gonna retaliate.”

“Then we’ll be ready,” said Nua.

Saul stopped his open-mouthed pacing. He turned, pointing a finger at the aasimar. “Aren’t you on duty in a few hours? You go get ready. Or get some sleep--it’s gonna be a long night.”

The slavegirl snarled and stormed out of the office. She slammed the door shut after her, rattling all the furniture in the room.

“She’s right,” said Orik. “Unless Clegg's on the same level as Deo.”

"I...I don't think so." Saul smiled cautiously. They just might be able to send the crime boss a message of their own whenever he inevitably came calling. "It's good to have you back, Orik."

His son made no comment.

Meanwhile, Nua stormed so furiously back to her room that she failed to notice the tell-tale signs of intrusion and vengeant enemies lying in wait. Her arms and legs were grabbed and a sackcloth bag yanked down over her head. Before she could roar out in protest, the end of the bag was cinched tight and choking around her neck. All she could manage was a muffled, vaguely defiant cough and sputter.

The eight interrupted gang rapists from the morning closed the door stealthily, sinisterly behind them. They wrenched the slavegirl's arms behind her back, kicked her knees out from under her, and shoved her painfully to the floor. She struggled against them in vain, each limb held in an iron grip and several boots pinning her to the bedroom floor.

They bound her arms straight behind her, wretchedly tight at the wrists and elbows. They kicked her onto her back and bound arms to fold her legs, lashing either to itself by calf-to-thigh in a humiliating frog-tie. With the aasimar choked and subdued, they threw her sword and breastplate to the floor and cut her clothes to shreds.

“You thought you could get away from us, you little bitch?” The speaker kicked her in her unprotected gut, causing her to choke and sputter.

“You thought you could get your friend to save you, you cum-brained slut?” Another kick, bruising her ribs and making her grunt in pain.

“You can’t escape, you stupid, worthless cumdump!” hissed another, stomping a boot down on her stomach.

“You’re a sex slave, you dumbass whore. Your mouth, your ass, your cunt--every inch of your lewd, slutty flesh belongs to the Goblin,” said another, grinding a heel into the slavegirl’s mound, making her huff and squirm in pain.

"We ARE the Goblin. And we're gonna teach you your fucking place on our fucking cocks and cunts."

Nua was thrown onto the bed. They grabbed her legs and twisted her onto her side so one could shove his cock up her asshole and another stuff theirs into her helpless pussy. As their pistoning cocks raped her into the bed, a third undid the bag around her head. Before the slavegirl could shout, she stuffed and gagged her mouth with her cunt.

"Suck me, you pathetic slut."

The staff's dicks raped Nua's ass and pussy to a pulsating pulp, forcing her to convulse and clench around their cocks in writhing orgasm. They came inside her and pulled out to cum on her belly and small of her back as well. The first two might've finished, but there was no reprieve for their helpless cum toilet.

Two more screwed their dicks up inside her, both in her spasming asshole at the same time. The pressure of both raping cocks up her ass was unimaginable. Nua shrieked into the staff's gagging cunt as her bound body snapped into rigid, uncontrollable quivering. They fucked and raped her ass so hard that her traitorous pussy squirted her slick all over the bed and her trembling legs.

The two came up her ass as the one squirted onto her face and into her mouth. All three swapped out with the last three, another cunt to gag the slavegirl's sow-like squeals and two cocks to stuff and rape her pussy.

Nua's eyes rolled to the back of her head, her hips bucking and thrashing of their own volition. She had been fucked out of all control, her finger and toes clenching in cum-brained orgasm. The Goblin staff laughed and jeered, slapping her helplessly quivering flesh, and marking every inch of her with their cum, slick, and piss.

When they were finally finished with their fuckhole bitch, they stuffed two dildos down her throat and up her ass and pussy, plugging their raping cum inside her. The eight gangbangers activated the vibration enchantments on all six dildos. They left their sex slave bound and cumming on herself in the puddle of their mixed filth, wholly unable to rest before the evening's brutal shift. 

Her last, desperate thoughts were of Orik. Nua prayed to her dark and wrathful goddess that he would come to end her torment. But there was no escape from her cruel, agonized reality. The fucktoys forced the slavegirl to cum over and over again until every last shred of conscious thought was ripped from her brain.


	9. Chapter 9

When Nua didn't come down for the afternoon's pre-opening line-up, Saul asked Orik to go get the 'headstrong aasimar.' The merc knocked on her door. When there was no answer, he opened it...to find Nua on the floor, semi-conscious, and getting raped out of her mind by the twin dildos vibrating in her throat, ass, and pussy. He yanked them out as gently but swiftly as he could.

"Who the fuck did this to you?" he asked as he cut through the ropes binding her arms behind her back and her legs in a frog-tie.

The exhausted, battered slavegirl just shook her head. If she told him, he would definitely beat the living shit out of them. They, in turn, would rape the living shit out of her, again. If he killed them, Saul would have to tell Deo, and the drow slaver would do something infinitely worse, likely to both her and Orik.

The merc helped her up, but she could barely stand on her trembling legs, much less walk. He picked her up and carried her down the back stairs to the washroom. He helped her wash up. Thee water was freezing, but the cutting cold sharpened her focus. In the few minutes it took to finish, she recovered enough to walk out on her own and meet Saul backstage.

Nua folded her arms over her chest more in attitude than to hide herself from the old bastard's hungry eyes. "What is it tonight?"

The boss smiled leeringly. "You're gonna give 'em a show."

Saul had Orik take the sex slave down the walkway stage. The crowd of brothel patrons getting steadily drunker let up a raucous hoot and holler. A muscle flexed in the merc’s jaw, but he held his peace.

Nua had to get down on her forearms and knees. The staff had installed iron shackles into the floor. Orik snapped them shut around her wrists, forearms, calves, and ankles. She was locked into place on all fours like a dog.

“Good luck,” the merc whispered to her as he finished. He left for backstage to start his patrol.

Saul was the next out through the curtain. The crowd went wild, enough that the slavegirl looked back over her shoulder--no way it was her dumbass boss they were cheering for. Indeed, it was not.

Saul held the leashes to six, 5ft-long goblin dogs. The lean, mangy canines had the same twitching nose, beady eyes, and protruding teeth as rats grown grotesquely large. From the long, heavy knotted cocks already hardened between their legs, the pack was clearly in heat. The old bastard released their leashes with a filthy grin. “Go get her, boys.”

Howling, growling, and slavering, the pack descended on the helplessly shackled aasimar. The first three dogs in heat to reach her immediately shoved their bestial dicks into her mouth, asshole, and pussy. The next three were so equally driven by their animal rut that they didn’t wait for their packmates to finish. The lean goblin dogs snapped and jostled against the others to squeeze their own cocks up their bitch’s already stuffed shafts.

Nua grunted in agony on the two cocks impaling her throat to the head of their knots as all six, weighty dicks pounded her overstuffed mouth, ass, and pussy. The dog’s raping dicks ground against each other’s as they crushed the shared wall of her ass and pussy between them and pistoned her guts to a pulp from both ends. They nailed their bitch locked between them so brutally that they forced the fist-sized girths of their knots through the painfully tight squeeze of her mouth, ass, and pussy.

The combination of getting railed to the base of her throat, guts, and the mouth of her womb along with the unbearable pressure of thick, twin knots plugging and pumping up her shafts sent the slavegirl into a wild fit of nasal squealing. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, back arching and hips bucking exactly like the dominated bitch’s she’d become to Saul’s pack of dogs. Violent convulsions wracked her bestially raped body, but the iron shackles restrained her totally against the floor on her legs and forearms.

With all six goblin dogs knotted inside her subjugated throat, ass, and pussy, she was forced to cum over and over as her bestial rapists fucked load after load of their seed into each of her shafts. The wildly hooting and jeering crowd pissed up onto her helplessly spasming body and coated her with their own cum...for nearly an hour while the dogs raped her to the end of their knots. When the beasts finally pulled out to stalk backstage where Saul had filled their bowls, their hot cum ran thick and oozing from the slavegirl's brutally fucked mouth, ass, and pussy.

The crowd, of course, had no intention of letting her rest. They clambered onstage as wild as the goblin dogs and plunged their cocks into her sticky, cum-stuffed holes. Nua, already exhausted from the orgasms gangraped into her earlier, spiraled inevitably toward blackout. The last thing she remembered were the weird mental notifications Orik’s influence put into her brain.

[Ability traced: disease immunity]

[Ability traced: natural armor, Armor Class increased by 1]

[Ability traced: bite plus allergen, allergen has also been added to your natural secondary claw attack. A bitten or clawed creature must make a Fortitude save or succumb to allergens and take a -2 penalty to Dexterity and Charisma]

Orik, patrolling from the catwalks, wanted to rip every last one of Nua’s attackers off her. He held back only by the dark promise to himself that after dealing with Deo he would raze the whole gods-damned Goblin down to its foundation. His shift ended well before the aasimar’s. Since rubbing elbows with the crowd downstairs would only make him angrier, he headed for the staff rooms to grab food, shower, and take a rest.

Sleep came surprisingly easily. Despite his plan to wake when Nua’s shift ended and help her out with the little he could do, he woke unexpectedly from a deep, dreamless sleep at a loud, crashing shatter of glass. Orik cursed and scrambled out of his bunk.

One step out the barracks door and into the hall was enough to send him back for his weapons and armor. It was just after closing hours. A group of four masked, leather-armored toughs had broken in through the windows and were clubbing still-uniformed staff members to death.

Orik cut them down before they knew what was happening and rushed downstairs. An even larger group had broken in through the windows of the main floor. Eight thugs led by an unarmored, bare-chested half-orc were beating the guards senseless.

“I’m guessing this is Boss Clegg’s revenge,” said a dry, familiar voice on the stairs behind him. Nua had dark rings around her eyes but had managed to squeeze in another bath and was back with her own weapon and armor.

“Ah, fuck.” Killing the crime boss’ crew would definitely only worsen his and Saul’s rapport. On the other hand, they couldn’t just stand around and let all the Goblin staff get slaughtered--as much as some of them deserved exactly that. “Wait. Let’s just take out the leader and ignore anyone who runs.”

Nua quirked a skeptical brow. “And look as weak as their boss thinks we are? I don’t think so. We take ‘em all out, show ‘em not to mess with us again--that’s how it works in Riddleport.”

The original plan, then. Orik gave a nod. Without a second’s more deliberation, the two ran into the fray on a killing spree. They cut down the half of the underlings between them and the raid leader, drawing the half-orc’s attention.

The raid leader took the rest of the thugs off the nearly-dead guards and sent them at Orik and Nua. The two couldn’t suppress an amused half-grin. What a stupid move that worked entirely in their favor. They cut through the thugs like scissors gliding through wrapping paper.

The half-orc only intended the maneuver as a distraction, of course. She used the underlings’ attack to move around into a flanking position. Unfortunately, she only managed a single flurry of blows before her allies were cut down, ending the flank.

Orik and Nua were ruthless in their retaliation. The half-orc’s head went flying across the room before she knew what hit her. The gamer teammates both leveled up and gained access to the enemy monk’s flurry of blows ability.

The two looted 300 gold pieces each off the bodies by the time Saul got up the courage to unlock his barricaded office door. As they were the only martially adept characters still conscious, he anxiously asked them to come with him to survey the damage. Boss Clegg’s raiders had broken windows, given concussions to the guards, killed six staff members, and made mincemeat of the goblin dogs Saul had loosed on them.

The survey ended by the morning’s first light outside the man’s office. Saul unlocked the door, nearly in tears of fear. “Deo’s not gonna like this.”

“I’m not going to like what?”

The three turned to face the speaker of the unusually accented Varisian words. Like all elves, Deo stood over a head taller than the humans. Orik had never seen pigmentation like theirs, however. Their skin was deep purple, their eyes a vibrant emerald green, and their long hair was like a mane of silver fire.

“Deo!” squeaked the boss/drow’s slave. “It was Boss Clegg! He finally tried to come for me--”

“Did you win?”

“I--well, I…” Saul looked between the glass and bodies in the hall and the two warriors on either side of him.

“Yeah, we kicked his ass,” said Orik.

“Excellent,” said the drow, their eyes appraising and approving of their minion’s new hire. “Well, since you’re already up and I have no need of sleep, let’s move our meeting to, say, now. Meet me in my office. And bring the new slavegirl.”

With that, Deo headed downstairs, leaving the three in the glass-and-body-littered hall. Nua watched them go with a withering glare, hands folded across her chest. Saul’s body, paralyzed with fear, slumped into a shakily breathing slouch.

“So that’s our big bad, huh?” Orik muttered under his breath. The drow noble didn’t look so tough, but there was never any telling with spellcasters. The eldest and frailest of them were often the masters of dragons--figuratively and literally.

“Orik, you’re in charge while I’m gone,” said Saul, grabbing the aasimar’s arm and pushing her into the office.

“Where are you going for this meeting? And why do you need to bring Nua?”

“The less you know, the better. I’ll give the need-to-know when we get back, but we gotta get ready and go, an hour ago. Just stay here and maybe organize the staff to start the cleanup--they’ll know what to do with the bodies.”

Wasn’t that a pleasant thing every son wanted to hear from his father. Orik let out a weary sigh. “Yeah, sure. Should I get them to put in an order for new windows, too?”

“Er...let me work out the budget with Deo first. Just put up some tarp--it’ll be fine, like camping!”

The merc walked off, shaking his head. As terrible as that sounded as a defense against northern Varisia’s autumn winds and sleet, he doubted the lack of windows would deter the daily crowd.

In his office, Saul tossed Nua a lacy bustier, thigh-high, lacy stockings, and a pair of strappy, ankle-breaker heels. As well as a leather collar, sturdy blindfold and ring-gag. “Get rid of your...everything and put those on.”

The sex slave muttered against the bullshit of it all, but understood she had no choice in the matter. She stripped down to naked and put it all on, even buckling the collar and ring-gag behind and tying a firm knot in the back of the blindfold. Saul ‘helped’ her with the rest.

He snapped her thighs into the cuffs of a spreader bar that would restrict her gait to a teetering hobble. He bent her arms behind her back, binding her forearms tightly together so that her hands dangled uselessly under her elbows. Finally, he attached a leash to her collar.

Blindfolded, bound, and hobbled, there was no way she could make it down the stairs, so Saul threw the aasimar over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried her down. Down to the cellar, where he opened the hidden trapdoor to the old smugglers’ tunnels. He set her down on her feet in the underground and led her by the leash.

Saul made his way through the humid, sea-salt-stinking tunnels by the light of his lantern. It was a long trek with the hobbling sex slave in tow, but he made it out toward the harbor to a cavern where a massive, rune-carved section of the Cyphergate itself passed through the rock. A workbench near the ancient stonework held several stone-working tools and a small, waterproofed journal.

Deo had brought in crystals glowing orange-purple to illuminate the cavern. They’d had their summoned creatures bring in desks, chairs, and other office furniture to make a comfortable working/excavating environment. The drow barely looked up from the parchment scrolls on their desk. “Good, you brought the girl. Come.”

Time for Saul’s favorite part of doing business with the Zirnakaynin elf. He stopped on the opposite side of the desk, but Deo grabbed the slavegirl’s leash and yanked her around to their side. She fell forward into the drow’s arms. And they promptly slammed her face-down onto the desk, bent at the hips.

Deo pulled her lace panties aside and drove their huge cock up her still-swollen, sensitized asshole. Nua grunted in pain, struggling against the desk and impaled on the drow’s raping dick, but the elf kept her pinned down with her head over the edge by one powerful hand between her shoulder blades. As Deo fucked her spasming ass into the table, his pounding ground her mound into the desk’s edge, only sharpening the explosive convulsions between her cuffed and spread legs.

From the other side of the desk, Saul unbuckled his belt and grabbed the aasimar’s head and a fistful of her hair. He forced her perfect, ring-gagged mouth down on his cock. He couldn’t repress his moaning as he raped her to the back of her tight, constricting throat. He might have his grievances with the drow, but he had to admit they had an unmatched eye for flesh.

Saul came quickly, keeping Nua’s mouth at the base of his dick to force her to swallow every last drop of his seed. Deo had far more stamina. The noble continued to rape the slavegirl into a drooling, whimpering, spasming mess while the two talked business--as was the Zirnakaynin way.


End file.
